Your Character's Name: Calvin
Calvin was unsure in the safety of a small community again. Being that he enjoyed freedom over security. Staring up at the blank stone ceiling in this dreadfully chilled concrete box, he longed for the open stars and sky. The longing of the sky and stars was adding up with all the other things his heart ached for. The long hours of the lonely night crawled almost as if they weren’t even moving at all.
“Bordeaux…” he whispered to the empty night air, his breath clinging to the moment in front of his face.
A bowl of lemon-pepper grass soup met Cal shortly after breaking that thin barrier to the nodding off into a partial sleep, the moment when you can still hear people talk but you don't realize you're asleep. Frustrated and exhausted he moved across the room. Glancing back and forth he spotted the part-time lab, part-time kitchen, in it the old man who allowed them stay overnight. Cupid stood near him heeding each word; this was probably the first intellect she has met since she left her parents. Bartre was a few feet from Cal attempting to act as though he wasn’t signing autographs today; sadly, no one was insisting that he does. Slurping up the remnants of the soup and fixing his bags up, Calvin was trudging.
“So buddy, my fair-haired companion, what shall be the quest this fine and exuberant day?” Bartre’s stage voice was still active.
“Err… I don’t care really, if you would wish to give them an encore-”
“Ah! Yes, an encore, the kind and simple folk of deserve a second showing of King Pritchard!”
Just then Calvin noticed someone who he had missed earlier. A man with a large black cloak wrapped around his shoulders and a deep hood covering all but a pointed noise stood facing Calvin. The man appeared to have a knife or blade under his cloak and a crossbow on his back. It was of the same size and model of Calvin’s very own.
“Hey there, something interest you?” a cracked and raspy voice emanated from under the hood.
Rushing over to the man Calvin peered into the darkness that surrounded his face. He spoke rashly to the man at first, “You’re one of those wandering folk, a Bandit right?”
“Something like that, what’s it to you?”
“You may have something I need.”
As the sly conversation stumbled through the mist, a torch was brought into the midst of it, the fog dispersed.
“Hey! Who’s this guy?” Bartre shouted.
“He’s one of the Bandits of the Hoods. And-”
Bartre points and poses, “Foul villain, how dare thee rob the lesser men of their needs and desires.”
“No, Bart not like that, think like Ivanhoe, Robin Hood. Okay?” Calvun pleaded at his large and more comically threatening pal, putting his hands out as if he had to hold him back from the nameless bandit.
“So, is he a good guy or a bad guy?” Cupid asked as if on cue.
Cal replied, “The Bandits aren’t exactly clear cut like that. They walk the line in between, somewhere in the region of morally grey.”
“So, they are or are not bad? How can they not be one or the other?” Cupid’s head was now turning like a small dog being taunted with a treat.
The man seemed irritated and impatient with their group. It seems this requires a little more persuasion... time for my talents.
“I am looking for someone who I have lost, it seems you are good at losing people and finding them, maybe we can cut a deal.” Calvin spoke directly and harshly to the hidden man, Cupid and Bartre watched with curiosity. -----------------------------------------------
Calvin felt rotten to the core this time, his short fuse lit up and the fire burned quickly. When he looked over his shoulder, his stomach had sunk. He saw that his two friends were dragging their feet without any desire to move forward. Past them he could the small settlement sinking into the horizon; sunny and dry; but still bitterly cold. Ah Wisconsin, they all thought to themselves. Arrowhead held a promise of safety and knowledge; it was a haven in this wretched world of leftovers. And Calvin caused their quiet exit. He dropped the curtain on there play; the power button promptly pressed under his thumb. Neither of his friends were happy to leave, the people there enjoyed their company and talents. Arrowhead was just another mirror of Hamlet and possibly less than that, but it made them happy. Calvin had stolen their happiness and comfortable contentment away again. I am beginning to wonder if this is worth it.
Calvin was unsure in the safety of a small community again. Being that he enjoyed freedom over security. Staring up at the blank stone ceiling in this dreadfully chilled concrete box, he longed for the open stars and sky. The longing of the sky and stars was adding up with all the other things his heart ached for. The long hours of the lonely night crawled almost as if they weren’t even moving at all.
“Bordeaux…” he whispered to the empty night air, his breath clinging to the moment in front of his face.
A bowl of lemon-pepper grass soup met Cal shortly after breaking that thin barrier to the nodding off into a partial sleep, the moment when you can still hear people talk but you don't realize you're asleep. Frustrated and exhausted he moved across the room. Glancing back and forth he spotted the part-time lab, part-time kitchen, in it the old man who allowed them stay overnight. Cupid stood near him heeding each word; this was probably the first intellect she has met since she left her parents. Bartre was a few feet from Cal attempting to act as though he wasn’t signing autographs today; sadly, no one was insisting that he does. Slurping up the remnants of the soup and fixing his bags up, Calvin was trudging.
“So buddy, my fair-haired companion, what shall be the quest this fine and exuberant day?” Bartre’s stage voice was still active.
“Err… I don’t care really, if you would wish to give them an encore-”
“Ah! Yes, an encore, the kind and simple folk of deserve a second showing of King Pritchard!”
Just then Calvin noticed someone who he had missed earlier. A man with a large black cloak wrapped around his shoulders and a deep hood covering all but a pointed noise stood facing Calvin. The man appeared to have a knife or blade under his cloak and a crossbow on his back. It was of the same size and model of Calvin’s very own.
“Hey there, something interest you?” a cracked and raspy voice emanated from under the hood.
Rushing over to the man Calvin peered into the darkness that surrounded his face. He spoke rashly to the man at first, “You’re one of those wandering folk, a Bandit right?”
“Something like that, what’s it to you?”
“You may have something I need.”
As the sly conversation stumbled through the mist, a torch was brought into the midst of it, the fog dispersed.
“Hey! Who’s this guy?” Bartre shouted.
“He’s one of the Bandits of the Hoods. And-”
Bartre points and poses, “Foul villain, how dare thee rob the lesser men of their needs and desires.”
“No, Bart not like that, think like Ivanhoe, Robin Hood. Okay?” Calvun pleaded at his large and more comically threatening pal, putting his hands out as if he had to hold him back from the nameless bandit.
“So, is he a good guy or a bad guy?” Cupid asked as if on cue.
Cal replied, “The Bandits aren’t exactly clear cut like that. They walk the line in between, somewhere in the region of morally grey.”
“So, they are or are not bad? How can they not be one or the other?” Cupid’s head was now turning like a small dog being taunted with a treat.
The man seemed irritated and impatient with their group. It seems this requires a little more persuasion... time for my talents.
“I am looking for someone who I have lost, it seems you are good at losing people and finding them, maybe we can cut a deal.” Calvin spoke directly and harshly to the hidden man, Cupid and Bartre watched with curiosity.
-----------------------------------------------
Calvin felt rotten to the core this time, his short fuse lit up and the fire burned quickly. When he looked over his shoulder, his stomach had sunk. He saw that his two friends were dragging their feet without any desire to move forward. Past them he could the small settlement sinking into the horizon; sunny and dry; but still bitterly cold. Ah Wisconsin, they all thought to themselves.
Arrowhead held a promise of safety and knowledge; it was a haven in this wretched world of leftovers. And Calvin caused their quiet exit. He dropped the curtain on there play; the power button promptly pressed under his thumb. Neither of his friends were happy to leave, the people there enjoyed their company and talents. Arrowhead was just another mirror of Hamlet and possibly less than that, but it made them happy. Calvin had stolen their happiness and comfortable contentment away again. I am beginning to wonder if this is worth it.